


Holding Pattern

by Writernon



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dementia, Established Martin Crieff/Douglas Richardson, F/M, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Hospitals, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, M/M, Major Illness, Memory Loss, Men Crying, Post-Canon, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writernon/pseuds/Writernon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Douglas visits Martin now, he's not sure what else Martin might have lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding Pattern

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: Major Character with non-specified degenerative dementia, other characters dealing with it.**
> 
>  
> 
> Written for two prompts [here](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/4207.html?thread=5341551#cmt5341551) and [here](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6034.html?thread=9428370#cmt9428370) on the cabinpres_fic meme on Dreamwidth. This is pure unrealistic OOC schmaltz, but in a way, it's a kind of therapy for me too. I apologize in advance for any potential distress.

"How are you feeling today, Martin?"

"I'll thank you to call me Captain while we're on the Flight Deck, First Officer Richardson."

"Yes, of course." Douglas felt his shoulders sag as he pulled a chair over and sat down, placing the battered flight bag on the well-scrubbed vinyl floor. _I'd been hoping..._ "I apologize. I forgot myself, Captain."

Martin's eyes tracked to the side. "Yes. Understandable mistake though. My hat seems to have gone missing."

Douglas pulled Martin's hat out of the flight bag, then held it in his hands for a while, staring down at it. The gold braid had lost nearly all its shine.

"You're the younger one, Martin," he whispered. "If this was going to happen to either of us, it should have been me."

"Sorry, what was that, First Officer?"

Douglas cleared his throat and placed the hat on the blanket covering Martin's legs. "There you are, Captain."

"Yes," Martin snatched up the hat and settled it on his head. "I won't ask what you were doing with it, but just remember, _I_ am Captain of this airline. Me, Martin Crieff. Captain Martin Crieff."

"I couldn't possibly forget that, sir."

Martin raised an eyebrow and quirked a grin. "Very well. See that you don't. Now, the briefing."

"I'm all ears."

"We'll be flying to- to..." Martin's brow furrowed, his hands twitching on the blanket.

"Aberdeen?" Douglas said, with a sick clench somewhere in his chest. _Please let him still have Aberdeen, at least._

"Yes. Aberdeen, of course. Alternate Milltown, mild showers over Birmingham. I'll operate out, you'll operate back." Martin frowned and adjusted his hat. "Just so you know. This may be our first flight together, but I intend to set precedent by it. I realize you have far more experience than I do, but I _am_ the Captain, and I will have the utmost in professionalism from my crew. All regulations will be followed to the letter."

The too-brash words of the young, very green Martin. They were bolstered with a remnant of the confidence he'd earned over their years of flying together, but without the memory of those years, or the years that followed. Douglas rubbed a hand over his eyes, hearing the echo of an echo of an echo in Martin's voice.

"Problem, Mr. Richardson?" 

"N-" Douglas swallowed hard. "No sir."

"Good. Good." Martin tugged at the brim of his hat, pulling it low over his lank hair, then squinted at the beeping, flashing machine at his bedside in the white room. "Should be getting clearance from the tower any moment."

"Yes sir."

There was a soft rap at the doorway. Douglas knew who it would be without glancing up. "Come in, Arthur."

"Hello, Douglas! Hey, Skip!"

Martin squinted. "Ah, you're the steward, yes? Arthur is it?"

Arthur's face crumpled a bit before his grin came back, brittle. "Yes, hello! Ah. You're the new Captain, mum said. Brilliant!"

"Well, I hope to be, thank you. Safety announcements done?"

Arthur glanced at Douglas. 

"Aberdeen," Douglas breathed. _Again._

"Right, yes, Aberdeen. All safe and ready to go!"

"Excellent. You'd best get back and strap in, we'll be getting clearance any moment."

Arthur's face fell. "Right Skip. I should... I'll- I'll bring you a coffee later, alright?"

Martin's eyes flicked around the room before landing back on Arthur. "What? Yes. Coffee, nothing-"

"Nothing in it. I know, Skip."

Martin frowned. "We've only just met, how on earth would you know how I take my coffee?"

"I- I- I just-" Arthur looked helplessly to Douglas.

"He's a very good steward," Douglas said roughly, putting a hand on Arthur's forearm and squeezing, holding on for a moment.

"Right. Well. Clearance any minute. You did file the flight plan, First Offi-"

"Please!" Douglas's voice cracked. "Please, for the love of god, Martin. Please call me Douglas."

"Well!" Martin tensed with affront, then chuckled. "I suppose a little informality on the flight deck wouldn't hurt. Douglas then. I don't know about you calling me Martin though, at least during a flight. Best you stick to Captain while we're aboard the plane. Wouldn't want the passengers to get confused." 

Douglas released Arthur's arm and buried his face in his hands, breathing deep and slow, trying to push back years of memories, to be the person Martin could remember and not the person Martin had helped him become. His throat tightened and his eyes burned. 

A gentle hand settled between Douglas's shoulders and the small comfort nearly undid him.

"No, absolutely not, Skip!" Arthur's brightness rang false as he rubbed small circles on Douglas's back. "Passengers would never get confused about that! You're the Captain! Anyone can see!"

Martin squinted at Arthur. "What are you still doing here on the flight deck, Steward? Go get seated. We'll be taking off soon."

"Righty-oh." Arthur's hand rubbed a final circle on Douglas's back before dropping away. "I'll just- I'll just be off then."

Martin's gaze tracked forward again, and he rested his hands palms down on the overbed table. Douglas watched Martin's fingers trace along the wood grain, picking out Gerti's control panels on the unmarked surface. 

_He still remembers that old plane so well, but not the years we spent..._ Douglas looked away to Arthur. The younger man was twisting one of the buttons on his jacket around, watching Martin's hands on the table. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head, patted Douglas's shoulder and left the room.

With Arthur's solid presence gone, the hospital room suddenly seemed far smaller, smaller even than Gerti's flight deck. Douglas stood abruptly, chair scraping on the floor.

Martin looked up, startled. "Mr Richardson? What's wrong?"

"If- if you don't mind, Captain, there's just something I need to discuss with the Steward before we get clearance for take off."

"Well, make it quick. We should hear from ATC any moment." Martin frowned down at his table top, hat slipping forward.

Douglas all but fled the room and leaned against the wall right outside, trying to gather his control over his emotions, trying to be glad they still had Martin for a few months yet, even if it was just this shadow of the man Douglas loved. Breathing still rough and eyes burning, he turned to Arthur who was standing there silently, looking between Douglas and the door of the room.

"Thank you for coming, Arthur."

"Thanks, Douglas. I wasn't sure what sort of a day he'd be having. Lissa's waiting in the car with Tina. She was hoping to see her Uncle Martin but-" Arthur peered back into the room, watched Martin running his hands over the bed table and frowning. "It's not a good day for him, is it?"

"No. No Arthur, it's not. He's not...." Douglas took a deep and shaky breath. "He's not going to have many more good days, Arthur."

"Oh," said Arthur. "I thought if he saw Tina, he might... since she has his name..."

"He barely remembers the two of us right now, Arthur. He wouldn't know who little Martina is. He'd probably yell at her because children- children aren't allowed on the flight deck-" Douglas rubbed a hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut, hot tears pinching out. He began to shake, breathing going ragged as he pressed his palm against his mouth. _Damn you for a fool, Douglas Richardson._

"Oh Douglas," said Arthur, sounding very watery himself. Douglas felt arms wrap around him as Arthur pulled him into a firm hug.

Douglas gasped, a sob breaking free. "I miss him. It's ridiculous. He's right there, Arthur, in that bed, I sit beside him for hours every day, and I miss him so much it hurts."

"I know, Douglas. I know."

Douglas's hands came up to grip at the back of Arthur's coat. In the arms of his long-time friend he let himself break down, soaking Arthur's collar and having his own collar dampened in return. They stood that way in the hall for a while, cocooned in pain, the world moving on around them, not stopping.

"Fourteen years isn't long enough," Douglas husked when he'd regained his voice. "Not nearly enough. I want more. I want him back. I want him to be a prissy neurotic pain in the arse for decades yet and sit by _my_ death bed, grilling me on flight regulations. I don't want this."

"No one does. It's rare, didn't the doctor say? Really rare that something like this starts before the age of sixty but it does happen, and Skip, well, he..."

"Is really unlucky." Douglas laughed once, feeling like it was being torn out of him. "That's Martin all over."

"Yeah." 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats," Martin's thready voice called from the room behind them. "We will be departing for Aberdeen momentarily. First Officer Richardson, please report to the flight deck."

"He wants me there." Douglas took a deep shuddering breath as he pulled away from Arthur, and rubbed the moisture away from his eyes. "I need to go."

Arthur's face had learned to look sad since his mother had died. He let Douglas go, pausing to grip his hand, not speaking, looking past Douglas's shoulder into the room. "Douglas-" 

"I know, Arthur."

"I'll get him that coffee." Arthur smiled and patted Douglas on the shoulder.

"I don't know if-"

"Decaffeinated coffee," Arthur said quickly. "I remember about the medications."

"He's-" Douglas nodded. "Sure, Arthur. He'd like that, I think."

"Do you want-?" Arthur waved in the direction of the hospital cafeteria, somehow encompassing much more than tepid tea and pallid sandwiches. "Anything? At all?"

"I-" 

"First Officer Richardson," Martin snapped as he pressed a finger against an undifferentiated spot on the overbed table. "Report to the flight deck, immediately!"

"I have to go." 

"Right. I'll get him that coffee then. If you need-"

"I will." Douglas said abruptly, before softening again. "I will. Thank you, Arthur."

"Don't mention it."

Pulling the chair back to Martin's bedside, Douglas sat beside his Captain, watching the man's hands weave long-remembered patterns through the invisible console controls. He wanted to reach over, put his hand over Martin's to match their wedding rings together like they once did not so very long ago. On the flight deck, Douglas would put his hand over Martin's on the control column, or Martin would cover his, and their rings would glint together in the cockpit lighting like some kind of miracle.

But that Martin was lost to him; all Douglas had left was the prickly new, unpaid, untried Captain Crieff, who did not react well to his brand new First Officer attempting to hold his hand in the flight deck before take-off. Douglas folded his hands into his lap and watched Martin's hands skitter across the overbed table.

"Clearance soon." Martin said, looking straight ahead past the blank walls of the semi-private hospital room. "Any minute now."

"Yes sir," said Douglas, throat so tight it was a wonder his voice came out at all.

"Golf-Echo-Romeo-Tango-India, this is Fitton tower." Douglas turned to the doorway to see Arthur, smiling sadly, holding back tears. His voice was so roughened it was barely recognizable. 

Martin straightened up in the bed, eyes focussing for a rare moment. "Go ahead Fitton tower."

"You are cleared for takeoff, please taxi to runway... um... one."

"Roger, taxiing to number one. Weather report?"

"Wind, um. Negligible. Clear skies all the way to Aberdeen, Skip-" Arthur somehow looked even sadder than before. "Captain. Captain Crieff."

Martin made a pleased noise and shifted his hands on the overbed table. "That rainshower over Birmingham must have cleared up." 

Douglas smiled and nodded a thank you to Arthur. Arthur smiled back weakly, waving his fingers before turning from the door; his quick footsteps faded away down the hospital hall.

Douglas kept his hands clasped in his lap, running his fingers over his wedding band as he watched the matching band on Martin's hand gleam dully under the hospital lighting. "It's a great day for flying, sir," he said.

Martin smiled. "That it is, Mr Richardson. Shall we see what this relic of an aeroplane can do?"

Douglas said nothing, watching Martin's face light up with the new-old joy of taking an aeroplane up for the first time as Captain, those memories still available and fresh to him yet. It wouldn't be long before he lost this too, and Douglas wasn't even a co-worker, just another of the confusing strangers who invaded Martin's room.

For now though, Douglas sat once more beside his Captain, reliving the start of their days of association together one more precious time, flying to Aberdeen.


End file.
